


Sherlock one-shots

by spacechub



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, Dealing With Loss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief, Happy, Little Bit of Everything, Loss, M/M, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacechub/pseuds/spacechub
Summary: Short Sherlock stories while I'm working on a bigger project!





	1. Hellos and Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a post abt Sherlock often imagining John when he's not actually there, and how the events of the fall could have occurred somewhere else for John. That inspired this.

"Goodbye John"  
The line went dead.  
"Sherlock? Sherlock!" I screamed into the phone. I redialed his number. It rang, and rang, and rang. I called again. It rang again. This repeated for several minutes. What I heard wasn't true. He hadn't- no, he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't leave me like this. Sherlock would shoot back a snarky text, complaining about the excessive phone calls, and I'd feign annoyance while stifling a smile.  
I sat in my chair for hours waiting for him to walk through the door. I received several phone calls, none of them Sherlock. At five there was a ring at the door. I heard Mrs. Hudson cheerily answer it. Hushed conversation. She began crying.  
"Oh, b-but John! How can we-"  
"Shhh, it's fine, I'll talk to him. You, stay with her." Came Lestrade's voice. I felt my fist clench and my heart began thrumming dangerously fast. I stared at the door as his footsteps rang up the stairs. My throat felt thick, like hundreds of cotton balls were stuck down it.  
"John?"  
"Hm?" Was all I managed.  
"John," he took a deep breath "John I've got some bad news."  
I held my gaze forward. Breathing was suddenly difficult.  
"John it's Sherlock-"  
"No." I shook my head.  
"He's, um" a shaky breath rattled Greg's lungs. "He"  
"No."  
"John he's killed himself."  
My lips curled around themselves and tears threatened to spill. "No" I rasped.  
"Today at 2:00 Sherlock jumped off of St. Bart's hospital."  
"Please Greg."  
Tears were silently falling from his eyes though his expression refused to change. I never realized Sherlock meant that much to him. He kept talking, but I couldn't tell you what he said, I'd begun to shut down. I started screaming at one point. I remember falling to my knees. I remember sobbing, I remember someone's arms around me, too small to be Greg, Mrs. Hudson? I don't know.  
How could Sherlock leave? How could he only call? His last word was my name. The last thing to pass his lips was me. How could he leave me with this?! How could he leave me alone?  
Why didn't he take me with him?  
If he was leaving, if he was tired of this world, why didn't he take me with him!  
My shoulders rose and fell as I heaved deep dangerous breaths that seemed to be doing nothing. I curled into myself, hands tightly gripped into fists. My insides felt as if they were being carved out like a pumpkin. It was too much, I couldn't have it in side me. It was him, there's too much of him. It felt like I was being ripped apart. Slowly tearing at my seams, loosing myself, loosing him, the one thing that made me whole.  
After a few hours, and being dragged to bed Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat and I sat in complete darkness and silence.  
I was truly empty. Everything had been burned out of me. When Moriarty threatened to burn the heart of Sherlock I have a feeling this is what it would've felt like. Like you weigh thousands of tons but sensing that you have nothing of true substance left in you.  
Like anything that might have mattered had been discarded, tossed out of the window.  
I sat there till morning staring into the depths of the suffocating darkness trying to process anything that wasn't Sherlock. Trying to form a plan, of what my future could even possibly be.  
By six I had made my decision.  
I stood quietly and pulled on a warm jumper. My knee had regained its insufferable pain and I searched for 30 minutes before locating my crutch. I put on an emotionless expression and left. Mrs. Hudson called after me asking where I was going. I ignored her and kept on. The barrel of the pistol was cold against the small of my back. I hailed a cab.  
"St. Bart's Hospital if you will."  
I watched out the window at the buildings passing. I truly loved this city, London has been and forever will be the home of my happiest memories. I'd fallen into a sort of daydream when the cabbie driver told me we'd arrived. I paid him handsomely and without a word.  
I tried to enter Bart's without being noticed but Molly had spotted me the second I'd walked in.  
"John?" Her eyes were red. She'd heard. I nodded in acknowledgment, unable to manage anything else.  
"I-" she watched me for a moment seeming to form her thoughts first. "I'm so sorry" I felt my self smile timidly as her eyes filled with tears. She hugged me tightly and buried her head into my shoulder. "I'm so so sorry John." I nodded mutely as grief cut off my airway and I forced tears back. I wasn't going to allow any more crying. I hugged her back, trying to console her as sobs wracked her body. Finally she pulled back rubbing furiously at her eyes.  
"C-can I help you with anything? Is there-"  
"No." I said a bit more abrupt than I'd meant, my voice raspy. "Ah, n-no I just." I sucked in breath through my teeth. "I just wanted to look around."  
She nodded in understanding. "Sure. You know the way. I'll-" she let out a ragged breath. "I'll be in the lab" she turned quickly with a hand to her mouth.  
I watched her through watery eyes and straightened my shoulders. Taking a breath I walked to the lifts knowing I'd be unable to climb the stairs.  
I pressed my thumb against the small button for the top floor and reflected on the past while I waited for the familiar ring announcing that I'd reached my destination.  
I was fortunate to avoid any other interactions. I don't think I would've managed another conversation.  
The silver doors parted and I stepped onto the top floor. I struggled up the stairs, my limp becoming worse by the second. I pushed open the door to the roof and gazed across the all the buildings clear from this view. I walked to the edge and watched the people on the ground. Even from this height they seemed to resemble ants. Scurrying around, going about their lives. I wished I could've stood there and wondered what Sherlock's last thoughts were. It would've been less painful than knowing they were of me.  
I stepped onto the ledge and pulled the gun from my waist band. This was the last place Sherlock stood. Where he took his last breath. Issued his last thoughts. Spoke his last words. They rang through my mind.  
"Goodbye John."  
I bowed my head and raised the barrel of the pistol placing it against my temple. Slowly curling my finger around the trigger. I thought on all the conversations we'd had. All the times we'd laughed together, all the times we bickered and fought. Memories of our first cases came flooding in and with them new waves or grief. You would think I was feeling some wide range of emotions but truly I felt absolute peace.  
I switched off the safety latch.  
"I'm coming Sherlock."  
The trigger held no resistance.


	2. What if The Empty Herse had a different ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a change from the episode because I like everyone being sad for some reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise happy stuff isn't far behind

"Sherlock." John said with a breathy laugh. "You can turn it off?" Sherlock's eyes were squinted, they flicked all over the bomb looking for something, anything, but it wasn't long till he slowly raised them to John.  
It was in this moment John saw fear and desperation in its rawest form.  
He let out a shuddering sigh, dragging a hand across his mouth. Sherlock seemed to be in shock, he'd fallen back onto his heels, long fingers pressed against his temples. "Sherlock," It came out no more than a whisper, but his eyes immediately shot to John's.  
Sherlock stood slowly, latching onto the standing bar with one hand, the other a tight fist. "John-" his voice cracked but he stood tall. "This is my fault."  
"No you don't." John stated with a frown, and drawing a breath. "These are our last moments you will not die blaming yourself"  
"John I've lead you to your death without the simplest idea of how to prevent it. This is my fault."  
"You didn't force me to come Sherlock, I followed you willingly, and I'd do it again."  
"John you have a life-you have a wife to return to. You have patients that depend on you-"  
"They'll find other doctors, and Mary," John paused staring, as if it was just settling in he'd never see her again. "Well, she's a strong woman and will do fine without me."  
Precious seconds passed.  
"How much time is left Sherlock?"  
"Just under a minute." He'd been ticking every second off in his mind.  
John took two steps forward and grabbed Sherlock in a fierce hug. "You are my best friend, I've not told you that enough-"  
Sherlock pushed John off and looked him in the eyes. They were filled with tears.  
He wished beyond anything that he'd had more time. There was so much he wanted to tell John, so much he should've said. All he could do was hope John knew. He placed a small kiss on John's forehead and murmured a quiet phrase as the timer hit zero.

**Author's Note:**

> Well what'd you think? please leave feedback in the comments, feel free to comment about grammar or spelling aswell, and try to keep it kind if you'd mind. :)  
> You can reach me on Instagram @blindmurdock and tumblr @radgalactickid


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